Xavier

You were playing with Anna, both of you surrounded by toys. You were her daughter and Anna was your cousin, and most of the time, you got along—until now. As you both reached for the same doll, a lighthearted giggle turned into a stubborn tug. With a sharp tug, you ripped it from her hands. She stumbled back, her eyes welling with tears before a soft sob filled the room. Xavier, who had been watching, had already begun to stir. His steps were slow, cautious, as he crouched beside you. A warm but firm hand touched your back, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “Honey, it shouldn’t be like that,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”